


around the world (why are you following me?)

by crazyqueerecrivain



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Abby is actually a good mother, Alternate Universe, Background Kane/Abby, Doctor Abby, Language Barrier, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Multi, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Past Finn Collins/Raven Reyes, Possibly President Kane, Raven is actually going to deal with her problems, Senator Kane, Teacher Jake, hopefully, mentions of domestic abuse, only time will tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyqueerecrivain/pseuds/crazyqueerecrivain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa keep bumping into each other. Clarke thinks Lexa is cute. Lexa thinks Clarke is cute. Hell, Lexa's cousin Lincoln is dating Clarke's best friend Octavia, where's the problem? Oh yeah, Lexa lives in Paris and speaks no English, while Clarke resides in New York and speaks zero French. </p><p>I apologize for the crappy summary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paris, France

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for any mistakes in the French, I promise I didn't use Google Translate. I've been taking French for about five and a half years, but years 1-3 and the beginning of year 4 is avoir, être, present tense and basic passé composé. Anyway, I'm always here for feedback if you care to give it. For all of you non-Francophones, I translated all the text at the bottom. (Or at least translated them to what I think they mean.)

Clarke loved the Louvre. Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven had told her she would, but she didn’t love it for the reasons that her best friends had said she would. The art had been amazing, no doubt, but there was nothing in this world that compared to sitting outside, watching tourists, and natives, and everyone in between. She had been in Paris for five days; she had visited the Louvre on the first day, and come back to the outside every day since. She sat and sketched for hours, losing daylight.

Clarke only looked up when a figure slumped down next to her. “ **Désolée mon cousin il est trop pénible.** ” The girl paused, after rapid firing off a series of sounds that Clarke didn’t understand. “ **Désolée je ne parlerais pas à vous.** ” The girl continued, as if she was still frustrated. Clarke only recognized the word _désolée_ , meaning sorry, so she searched for clues in the girl’s face.

The girl’s green eyes showed irritation, but her face showed something else entirely. Clarke sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to understand, so she just gave the pretty girl a sympathetic smile, before turning back to her drawing.

“Lexa?” A familiar voice called through the crowd. Clarke tried to place it, but she couldn’t. “ **Lexa, pourquoi est-ce que tu es sortie la musée?** ” A burly man approached the girl, who had taken a seat next to Clarke. The man looked like someone she knew, but the name continued to escape her. She grunted in frustration.

The girl groaned. “ **Lincoln, tu sais que je déteste les musées. Je n’ai pas voulu y venir.** ” She wasn’t trying to be noisy, hell; she didn’t even understand what they were saying. Clarke was smart enough to realize that _cousin_ probably meant cousin in English, so she assumed the burly man, Lincoln, was the young woman, Lexa’s, cousin. She understood that they were arguing, but that was more from the tones of their voices.

Clarke had had the opportunity to take French in high school, but no, that had been too hipster for her, so she took Spanish instead. Now, she wished she had swallowed her pride and taken the language.

“ **Si te plait, sois gentille. J’aime Octavia. Pour moi?** ” Lincoln asked, her brain locking into overdrive. A man named Lincoln, who was fluent in French, dating a girl, named Octavia. It was a coincidence, though Clarke didn’t really believe it because her Octavia wasn’t in the States. Her Octavia was in France visiting her boyfriend Lincoln’s family.

Clarke looked up timidly. “Lincoln?” She asked quietly, almost hoping that he wouldn’t hear, but he did. Clarke could tell he was analyzing from where he knew Clarke.

“Clarke,” he laughed, “Small world. Octavia is just inside.” Lincoln said; the accent that had just been there as he talked to Lexa had disappeared. Clarke had no idea how he toggled so easily between the two.

“ **Tu la connais?** ” Lexa finally spoke, while Lincoln just responded with a nod.

“Clarke, this is my cousin Lexa,” he motioned to the girl pouting next to Clarke, and then turned to address the brunette. “ **Lexa, c’est une amie de Octavia. Peut-être sa meilleure amie.** ” Lincoln explained in the foreign language. Lexa nodded, outstretching her hand.

“ **Enchantée** ” Clarke recognized the basic word.

“ **Enchantée** ” Clarke said, acutely aware of her probably horrific pronunciation.

“I see how it is,” Octavia’s laugh came from behind Lincoln, as she threw her arms around Lincoln. Clarke could see the flicker of surprise on Lincoln’s face. When he spoke, his accent was a mix of British and French, and it was often easy to miss the French part, yet he wasn’t always accustomed to the American way of touching. “You like Clarke, but not me.” She flashed Lexa a grin, and outstretched an arm to ruffle Clarke’s hair.

“Dude,” Clarke whined, trying to stroke her hair back into its place.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, as if she was trying the word out on her tongue. She brushed a flyaway away from Clarke’s face, before the three took off. They had dinner at Lincoln’s house tonight. 

When Clarke got back to her hotel, she downloaded Duolingo, and started to learn French.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Désolée mon cousin il est trop pénible: Sorry, my cousin is too annoying.
> 
> Désolée je ne parlerais pas à vous: Sorry, I shouldn't be speaking to you (in the fact that it's kind of rude? idk)
> 
> Lincoln, tu sais que je déteste les musées. Je n’ai pas voulu y venir: Lincoln, you know I hate museums. I didn't want to come here.
> 
> Si te plait, sois gentille. J’aime Octavia. Pour moi: Please, be nice. I love Octavia. For me?
> 
> Tu la connais: You know her?


	2. Charles de Gaulle, Paris, France

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke runs into a certain brunette at the airport.

Clarke was tired. Her eyelids were heady as she strode through French security, or lack thereof. Clarke knew the US was uptight, but the French had almost no security. Charles de Gaulle was not a tiny airport, but Clarke navigated it easily, despite the language barrier. Clarke traveled a lot when she first left college. She had volunteered for two years with the Peace Corps, helping to organize AIDS/HIV clinics in Africa. Sometimes she lusted for the times when she still wore the title of Dr. Clarke Griffin, but most days, she was glad.

Clarke was blessed; there was no doubt about it. Very few had the money to get through college and med school with only $20,000 in debt, (which her mom and step dad promptly helped her repay) and even fewer had the support of their parents when they decided to give up medicine and travel the world. Clarke traveled prudently, just because her mom was a wealthy surgeon and her step-dad was a senator, thinking of running for president, didn’t mean she thought money grew on trees.

Clarke remembered a time before all the money. She remembered the Christmases when she was little, when her dad placed her feet on his and danced her around their tiny apartment. She remembered when her mom sat hunched over mounds of book and Clarke would curl up in her lap and recite different facts about the body, her mother’s smile glowing with pride.

“Clarke?” A heavily accented voice called Clarke’s name, snapping Clarke out of her memories.

“Lexa,” Clarke surprised even herself with the enthusiasm that penetrated her voice. 

“Uhh…” Lexa hesitated, obviously trying to formulate words. She scrunched her eyebrows together, which, okay, was really cute. “ **ça va**?” She seemed to finally settle on just speaking in French, but she held up a thumbs up as if to ask Clarke if everything was good with her.

“Oh, yeah.” Clarke nodded, reciprocating Lexa’s thumbs up. “And, uh, tu?” Clarke asked, trying to think of the pronoun for you. She pointed to Lexa as she realized her mistake. Stupid romance languages having to forms of you. “I mean, vous.” A blush crept up Clarke’s cheek, but apparently Lexa thought it was funny, because she just laughed and smiled. God did she had a nice smile. 

“ **Ça va bien. Vous** ,” Lexa pointed to Clarke, “ **allez à Londres**?” She spoke slowly, as if that would make Clarke understand better. Lexa pointed to the digital sign above the gate. Clarke nodded, smiling. You didn’t need to be Einstein to know that London was _Londres_ in French, though it didn’t hurt that it said ‘Londres’ on her ticket. Lexa was quiet for a few moments, as if she was gathering courage.

“What, uh, what you do at, uh, at London.” Lexa asked, her English making Clarke’s smile grow. She thought she knew how to say what she wanted in French, so she figured she owed Lexa some effort.

“Uh, **je vais, uh,** ” Clarke held up a finger, as if to tell Lexa to hold on. Her Spanish teachers had always told her never to use Google Translate, as it spat out grossly incorrect translations, but they had given her a website to use. Quickly, she pulled out her phone and went to WordReference. She looked for the translation of draw. “ **Je vais dessiner, et um, visiter, uh, les mus** **é** **es**.” Clarke winced, knowing she had butchered the pronunciation. In her defense, French was hard. Lexa seemed to understand, as she smiled.

“You love,” Lexa paused and Clarke met her deep green eyes. She could see the thoughts everywhere on Lexa’s face. From her scrunched eyebrows, to her lips, which were pursed in thought, and her eyes, which were filled with effort. “Art.” Lexa frowned, it seemed that that hadn’t been the word she wanted, but she figured it would do.

“ **Oui**.” Clarke responded, easily conjuring the French word for yes. The two sat in a comfortable silence for some time, Lexa doing something with her phone, while Clarke ran through the 206 bones of the body.

If anyone found out, they’d probably think Clarke was crazy; after all, she had left medicine. It wasn’t like she hadn’t loved it, but she couldn’t be happy doing it. During her time in Africa, she had gotten to know the community children. She had gotten a face for the suffering. Back in the US, anything she did didn’t measure up. Art became one of the few things that brought joy back into her life. Biology and anatomy were still building blocks of Clarke’s essence. She knew the bones of the body before she knew how to multiply. (Which was much to her dad’s dismay, considering he had minored in math in college.)

“What you, what you,” Lexa stuttered, unsure of what she was saying. Lexa let out a frustrated sigh. “ **Qu’est-ce que vous faites comme travail**?” Lexa asked. Clarke squinted her eyes, trying to understand what Lexa had just said. Lexa gave Clarke the same finger Clarke had given her before. She pulled out her cell phone and went to Google Translate. _Amateur_ Clarke thought, though a smile crossed her face.

“What do you do for a living?” Lexa read choppily. Clarke opened her mouth to answer, but how did she explain. ‘So yeah, I was a doctor, then I stopped. Now I’m traveling in effort to expand my portfolio and I’m hoping to own a gallery later.’ Yeah, that was way too complicated.

“Uh, **c’est compliqué**.” Clarke tried, “but, uh, **je suis artist**?” Lexa laughed, which told Clarke she had said something wrong.

“ **Je suis _une_ artiste**.” Lexa corrected in a perfect accent. Clarke shivered, repeating what Lexa had told her. Before Clarke could make a poor attempt to ask her the same question, one of the flight attendants came over the intercom to tell them, in both French and English, that the plane would now be boarding, so Lexa and Clarke said goodbye.

Clarke wasn’t sure if it truly didn’t feel like goodbye, or rather, if she just didn’t want it to be goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ça va: So fun story I don't actually know what this means literally, but we were always taught that it was sort of like 'what's up' or like 'how are you', so I hope that's not completely incorrect. 
> 
> Ça va bien: again, not positive about the literal meaning, but we were taught that's kind of how you respond with a 'i'm good' or something of the same level
> 
> Vous allez à Londres: You're going to London?
> 
> Je vais dessiner et visiter les musées: I'm going to draw and visit the museums 
> 
> c’est complicé: it's complicated
> 
> Je suis une artiste: I'm an artist


	3. London, England (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Clarke background, nervous Lexa, not tons of communication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I will never understand the difference between passé composé and imparfait, so sorry if I used p.c. when I should have used imp.

Clarke didn’t see Lexa in any British museum, or at the airport, or even in any other touristy activities Clarke did. It wasn’t like she was expecting to see her; London was a big city. She tried to ignore the tugging at her gut that yearned to see the French girl again. She barely knew Lexa. They had exchanged so few words, and they didn’t even speak the same language. Clarke tried to not dwell on the fact that Lexa may have been the only thing that was motivating her to learn French. It would be a good language for Clarke to have under her belt, being an artist. There were tons of French artists. It was totally the art that was motivating her, not a pretty girl with intense green eyes.

 

Clarke looked at her ticket, then up at the seat numbers. 34B, 35F, 36D. Clarke saw the young woman in 36E, but she seemed intent on what she was doing, so Clarke didn’t interrupt her. She wasn’t thrilled about where she was sitting, only two rows back from the back of the plane, but she had booked the ticket only a few days before, so there was limited selection.

Clarke sighed, pulling out her tablet. She switched on her personal hotspot, figuring she might as well check her email and do something productive while she waited for the plane to take off. Sure enough there were emails from her mom, Raven, and Bellamy; each was short, but that was as was expected. Her mom didn’t really do technology well, Raven was all about getting her point across, and Bellamy, well, he was Bellamy.

 

The Blakes and the Griffins had met when Clarke was eight, Octavia was seven, and Bellamy was thirteen. The middle school had a weird book buddies type thing with the elementary school, and three times a week the eighth graders would walk down from the upper school and read to the fourth graders. On the other two days they would exchange a composition book, which the eight graders had decorated, with notes and drawings. Bellamy and Clarke had been paired up and instantly bonded.

 

When Jake and Abby had invited Aurora and her children over for dinner, the parents bonded, and the children became best friends. Looking back, Clarke thought that maybe her parents, her dad especially, liked Aurora because she reminded them of where they came from. After all Bellamy and Clarke met right after Abby had been promoted, now earning significantly more money, and Jake had taken a new teaching job, one at a fancy prep school, instead of the local public school.

 

**_Shall we expect you for the holidays? Bell is bringing his girlfriend, Monroe. He seems very excited, so be nice my Love. Octavia said she’d be there, and she’d love to bring her boyfriend Lincoln, but she’s not sure if he’ll be able to come. He’s French, you know. I’m still working on Raven. She’s still broken from you-know-who, and Wick wasn’t much better for her. Let me know your plans, so I can cook accordingly. Love you, Mom._ **

****

Clarke smiled. She and her stepfather may not have had the best relationship, but she loved how the holidays brought them all together. After Aurora had died, her father, Jake, had insisted that Bellamy and Octavia join them for Christmas. They had basically spent it together when Aurora was still alive, but this just made it so they all woke up under the same roof.

 

When Clarke met Raven, they had both been a little bit of a mess. They had also both been dating Finn Collins. He was kind of a jerk. Clarke couldn’t hold too much against him though, she had gotten Raven out of it. For Raven, Finn had always been there. Raven’s mom was a dead-beat and her father had been out of the picture since she was born. Finn, however, always remembered her birthday and seemed to care about her. He was her first everything. Clarke shivered, a wave of sadness for her friend washed over her.

 

Before Clarke could answer her mother, or check what Bell and Raven had to say, a flight attendant came around and told her to put her tablet away. Clarke obliged, but apparently the girl next to her hadn’t heard.

 

“Um, Ma’am.” The flight attendant grunted in an American accent Clarke found very annoying. The girl still didn’t look up from her computer, where she was typing intently, while music beat through her ear buds. “Ma’am.” The flight attendant grunted, an obvious irritation in her voice. Clarke gently nudged the passenger next to her, and to her surprise, she found she recognized the face.

 

“Oui?” Lexa asked, still obviously distracted. Clarke noticed that this flight attendant only had an American flag pin. Some had both, and some had just a French flag pin.

 

The flight attendant slashed her hand in the air near her neck and motioned to the laptop. “We’re about to take off, you’re going to need to put that away.” Lexa’s eyes knit together, telling Clarke she didn’t understand. She just looked at the flight attendant confused. The flight attendant sighed exasperated, and hurried off, probably to find a flight attendant that spoke French.

 

“Clarke.” Lexa smiled; Clarke definitely was starting to like how her name sounded in Lexa’s tongue.

 

Clarke smiled, “Lexa.” She slowly took Lexa’s computer from her, and closed it, trying to ask permission along the way. Lexa just nodded, an understanding starting to form in her eyes. Lexa slipped her laptop back in her bag and looked up just as the frustrated American flight attendant returned.

 

“What’s the problem?” A second flight attendant, this one younger and with purple hair instead of red, asked in a British accent.

 

“ **Désolée je n'ai pas compris**.” Lexa explained in her flawless, native French.

 

“ **Pas de** **problème**.” The purple haired flight attendant said, without an accent audible to Clarke, before pulling the older ginger flight attendant away. Clarke grimaced at the language coming from the younger’s mouth. She kind of felt bad for the older flight attendant, who was now being chewed out.

  
Lexa and Clarke didn’t get a word in before a male flight attendant started the safety lecture in both French and English. Even afterwards, neither girl took the initiative to speak first, despite Clarke’s desire to converse with Lexa. It worried her that they were up in the air, considering they had both needed the Internet for help during their previous conversation.

 

When someone grabbed Clarke’s hand she pulled away instinctively. Then, she realized it had been Lexa’s hand. A deep red was crawling up Lexa’s neck and cheeks, fear filling her eyes. As the plane jerked, and Lexa tensed, Clarke took Lexa’s hand again, figuring that Lexa had taken her hand in the first place because she feared take off.

 

“ **Uh,** **désolée je suis surprise**.” Clarke tried, hoping that surprised was a cognate. Lexa smiled, though her face was still tense.

“ **Désolée, j’ai été surprise** ” Lexa corrected. Clarke repeated the correct words, struggling with the r sounds in _surprise_. Clarke raised an eyebrow, as if to ask Lexa if this was going to be a regular thing. Clarke trying to speak French while Lexa corrected it. Lexa only winked, which Clarke took as a yes.

 

“To sleep help me.” Lexa said, leaning back, her hand still gripping Clarke’s. She clenched her eyes shut. Clarke didn’t want to say she watched Lexa fall asleep, but okay, yeah, she watched Lexa fall asleep. It only took a matter of minutes until Lexa’s head swayed to the left, and landed on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke tried to ignore the quickening of her heartbeat, but it had been flattering, being chosen like that. Lexa hadn’t let go of Clarke’s hand, so she just had to practice her French with one hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Désolée je ne ai pas compris: Sorry, I didn't understand
> 
> Pas de problème: No Problem
> 
> Désolée, j’ai été surprise: Sorry, I was surprised


	4. New York City, NY, United States of America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Raven are eating at Monty's cafe when a certain French woman makes an appearance. A little background on Raven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I saw this post a long time ago talking about how it's unreasonable that all the ark people speak English, so I may or may not have this head canon that when Raven gets really pissed she speaks in Spanish, and I speak no Spanish, at all. Thus, any Spanish in this section is translated word for word by WordRef, and grammar isn't accounted for. Sorry guys.

Clarke sat sketching in the center of the café, when she finally realized what, or whom rather, that she was drawing. Clarke sighed, picking up the green colored pencil. She had started the sketch, so she might as well finish. She’d have to hide it from Octavia.

Since she had told her best friend about meeting Lexa on the plane, and Lexa sleeping on Clarke, Octavia had been teasing Clarke about falling for Lincoln’s cousin. Of course, Octavia hadn’t been serious, but the quickening of Clarke’s heartbeat was no joke. Clarke craned her neck and checked her watch. She had been at the café for two hours, not moving. She grunted; Raven was late. Clarke looked around, but she heard Raven before she saw her. Angry yelling in Spanish filled the café, before the door slammed.

“ _Yo juro a dios, ese chico_.” Raven grunted, sliding down next to Clarke. She just smiled, an amusement sparkling in her eyes. Raven had been arguing with their mutual ex, Finn. Clarke and Finn only had an intense few month relationship before Clarke found out about Finn’s infidelity, but Raven had a lifetime with Finn. Raven’s mom had been abusive, and Finn was the one who got her through it. Six-year-old Finn managed to make Raven a birthday cake; fifteen-year-old Finn took a blow from Raven’s mother that had been meant for Raven (and bruised three ribs), but most importantly, eighteen-year-old Finn had helped Raven come to terms with the fact that she had lost mobility in her lower left leg. Raven couldn’t bear to give up all their history, despite the fact they would never be a couple again, so she decided to try and be friends with Finn. It was going, well, this wasn’t the first time Raven had finished an exchange with him yelling in the foreign language. 

“I see Finn’s good.” Clarke laughed. Raven’s friendship was the best thing Clarke got out of the Finn mess.

“Can I get either of you a coffee?” Monty seemed to appear out of thin air.

“Please. Large, black, soon.” Raven flashed an apologetic smile to the café owner. Monty nodded, facing Clarke.

“The usual?” He asked, though his eyes rested on the sketchbook in Clarke’s lap. Clarke hoped Raven wouldn’t follow his gaze. She nodded gratefully, closing her sketchbook.

“Pretty girl.” Raven fished once Monty had turned to put in their orders. Clarke tried to hide her blush, but she had never been very good at that. “What’s her name?” Raven asked, her smile growing.

Clarke sighed. “Lexa. She’s Lincoln’s cousin.” Raven nodded slowly, as if she was processing what Clarke was telling her. She wasn’t sure what made her say more, but before she knew it, Clarke was talking again. “But look, she’s French, and we’re not going to see each other again, and I’m totally not that into her she’s pretty, but you know we barely know each other, and can we just drop it.” She felt like she had just threw up mounds of words.

Monty returned with their coffees and set them down with a smile. “Dropped.” Raven sad simply, and the girls dove into conversation about the latest New York gossip. Clarke had forgotten how much she missed her normal. She had been traveling for six months through Europe, and man, did she miss laughing and smiling this hard with Raven. Before the Blakes, Clarke only had one friend, Wells, and despite being friends, it wasn’t the same with Octavia and Bellamy. They had only gotten close after Wells had died.

“Pretty Girl.” Raven said about an hour later, catching Clarke off guard.

“Huh?” She asked. Raven could be weird, but she usually didn’t blurt out random words. Then it clicked, that’s what Raven had called Lexa before. “Oh c’mon Raven, you told me you’d drop it.” Clarke sighed.

“No, Clarke,” Raven pointed behind Clarke, “Pretty Girl is here.” Clarke turned around, and sure enough, there was Lexa, looking like a lost raccoon.

“Lexa?” Clarke asked, causing the girl to turn. She had looked so strong, like nothing feared her when they were in France, but here, she looked more vulnerable.

“Clarke?” Lexa said, her accent making Clarke smile.

“ **Qu’est-ce que vous faites ici**?” Clarke asked, she was proud of how much she’d learn, but god, French was a mean language.

“ **Je travaille ici maintenant**.” Lexa smiled. Clarke wasn’t sure she understood the other girl properly. She worked here, like here here? Like New York here? 

“New York City?” Clarke asked stupidly, but Lexa smiled and nodded. “ **Est-ce que vous voulez, uh, vous asseoir?** ” Clarke had signed up for a French class at the local community college, but she was only one class in and the verb to sit confused the hell out of her. The only reason she was able to use it now, was because they used it in class.

 

Raven got up, quickly hushing Lexa’s protests in broken French. “Have fun with Pretty Girl.” She whispered to Clarke as she left the café. Clarke blushed a little, as Lexa took Raven’s recently vacated place.

Before Clarke could press, Monty approached. “You switched dates on me,” he joked, though Clarke figured that Monty knew it wasn’t a complete joke. The kid was pretty perceptive.

 

“Well, you know I have to keep it fresh.” Clarke laughed. Lexa scrunched her eyes together in obvious lack of understanding. Monty smiled, flipping to a new page of his pad.

 

“What can I get for you guys to eat?” He asked. Clarke had forgotten about the whole food part of the café.

 

“Uh,” Clarke hesitated, realizing Lexa still didn’t know what was going on. “Lexa, uh, manger?” She tried to conjure the verb for ‘eat’. Lexa tried to shake her head, but her stomach growled. “I’ll have a bagel with cream cheese, and what are your pastries today?” Lexa seemed to perk at the word ‘pastries’ as it sounded similar to a French word.

 

“Chocolate croissant, chocolate chip muffin, pistachio muffin, strawberry tart, and” Monty’s face contorted as he tried to remember the last one. “Oh and old fashioned donut.” Clarke nodded; trying to figure out which one she’d order for Lexa.

 

“Let’s get a chocolate croissant, pistachio muffin, and a donut.” Clarke ordered. Monty nodded, and left to go get the order.

 

“You work here now?” Clarke asked, still unsure if she had understood what Lexa has said earlier. Lexa nodded.

 

“I fight for money.” Clarke struggled to keep back the laugh that begged to be let out. It made Lexa sound like some street thug.

 

“Like boxing?” Clarke asked. She couldn’t help but picture Lexa beating up another girl, but then she faltered. If Lexa beat up people for a living, some people beat up Lexa for a living.

 

“ **Je crois que vous l’appellez UFC.** ” Lexa said, transitioning into French. Clarke’s breath caught, she was pretty sure UFC was the really dangerous sport. Clarke nodded, as Monty reproached, juggling all the goodies in his arms seamlessly.

 

“Thanks Monty.” Clarke smiled, handing him her credit card. Monty smiled.

 

“You just? You pay?” Lexa asked, registering what Clarke had just done. Clarke only grinned.

 

“Okay,” she started, taking a chunk out of her bagel; she was starving. “Try what every you want.” Lexa paused, but tried the pasticcio muffin. She grinned, taking another bite.

 

Their communication stunned Clarke. Throughout the meal, Clarke and Lexa spoke broken French and English, they acted out words they didn’t know, and they laughed, something that was universal in all languages.

 

As each of the pieces of food was consumed, Clarke realized they were closer to the end of whatever this was. Was this a date? Clarke’s brain swirled. She took a last swig of her coffee, letting a little bit of confidence flow through her veins. She tore out the sketch she had been drawing and wrote her phone number on the back of it.

 

“Call me.” She said, handing the sheet of paper to Lexa, before walking out of the café, her confidence shriveling into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Spanish SHOULD say: I swear to God, that boy
> 
> Now for French fun-
> 
> Qu’est-ce que vous faites ici: What are you doing here
> 
> Je travaille ici maintenant: I work here now (I realize it's probably not ici, but I don't know what 'here' is for like here in the country)
> 
> Est-ce que vous voulez vous asseoir: Do you want to sit?
> 
> Je cois que vous l’appellez UFC: I believe that you guys call it UFC


	5. Washington, District of Colombia, United States of America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke, Abby, and Marcus go out to breakfast at their local diner and what do you know, a certain brunette shows up. WHAT A SURPRISE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am complete 'Woods' family trash #SorryNotSorry
> 
> Hey French buddies, I have a few questions for you, so here it goes. Question One: Help me out, how would I say, and who are they. I’m kinda going off a guess, so your feedback is greatly appreciated. Next question, because yes, I’m starting to get comfortable with y’all so I’m going to start asking more questions. How does one transition from vous to tu and like do young adults use tu for other young adults they don’t know, or do they use vous. Thanks guys. The rest will be down below!

Clarke hadn’t wanted to take this stupid trip to begin with, and it was absolutely not because she was waiting on a call from an attractive French girl. She had been driving the four hours down to the country’s capital, so if the phone rang, she could certainly answer it. It didn’t, which then gave Clarke six and half hours (an hour and a half on the fucking George Washington, her mom told her to take the Tappan Zee, but no, Clarke had to go and be stubborn) to think. She had thought Lexa liked her, but maybe not. For all she knew Lexa wasn’t even gay- okay she totally knew Lexa was gay. She made Octavia ask Lincoln and he confirmed that Lexa was into girls. Maybe it was just the culture differences; maybe Lexa thought she was being friendly, while Clarke thought it was more.

Clarke’s mom, Abby, had figured out Clarke was distracted by a romantic interest pretty quickly. They had talked about it, and Abby decided she would take the day, since she wasn’t on shift, and have a girl’s day. Marcus had taken the day off, so Clarke insisted her stepfather come for at least the breakfast portion of the day.

They ate at a family owned restaurant, Benny’s. Clarke and Abby had started going to Benny’s before Clarke was born. Jake had found the restaurant a couple months after Clarke had been conceived, and it had become their place. They took her there for breakfast as a baby when they just wanted to go out and the owners would come over and make faces at Clarke, which would always quiet her if she cried, and make her laugh if she was quiet. When Clarke grew into a toddler, the owners would always make Clarke special clown pancakes. When Clarke was a pain in the ass preteen, they would bring her the special pancakes, and if only for the hour, she was a child again. When Clarke turned fifteen, they gave her her first job, and when Jake died, they were the first ones there. The owners brought breakfast each day, clown pancakes for Clarke (which she hadn’t ordered for two and a half years, since she was thirteen) and a western omelet for Abby (the meal she always ordered when she wasn’t happy). They had even catered Abby and Marcus’s reception, which was breakfast themed of course.

“So, Clarke,” Marcus pushed Clarke from her trip down memory lane. “How was Europe?” He used his knife to saw through his French toast. Abby’s order changed with her mood, but like Clarke’s, Marcus’s stayed constant. Clarke knew she should humor him. Abby hadn’t been _thrilled_ when Clarke decided to leave medicine, but Marcus insisted that they had the money, Clarke should explore the world now, while she was young; she could settle down later. Marcus was really the reason Clarke got to explore.

“It was great, but I missed home.” Clarke smiled, that wasn’t false. It was amazing; she loved medieval architecture and she got to see so much of it in Europe, but by the time she got to London, she was ready to cuddle up next to her best friend and bing Netflix. “I’m thinking,” Clarke chewed on her lip. She hadn’t actually planned on telling her mom and Marcus about her plans, but it seemed natural to come clean. Her mom could get the truth out of her no matter what. “I’m thinking I might look for a part time pediatrics job, and save up some money to open an art gallery.”

Marcus opened his mouth, probably to offer his cash, but was cut off by both the women telling him ‘no’. Clarke smiled, a glint of amusement sat in her mother’s eyes.

“I want to do this on my own. Responsibility and stuff.” Clarke coughed back a laugh. Marcus was blushing and it was hilarious. He huffed, but before he could make up some sort of excuse about what he was actually going to say, his gaze shifted. He was no longer looking at Clarke, but at an ambiguous figure behind her.

Clarke turned, but all she saw was a brunette, above average, but not super tall, surrounded by two big guys. “Y’alright there Marcus?” Clarke asked, the amusement masking the vague concern in her voice.

“That’s Gustus and Nyko Woods, they’re French fighters who came to US four years back to compete in UFC, they’re amazing, rumor has it their sister is going to follow in the footsteps, bet that’s her.” Marcus said, his awe being painfully obvious.

“You just can’t get away from the French, can you?” Abby teased, nudging Clarke, who laughed. Clarke snuck another peak, knowing she was going to hear about these guys tonight at dinner, and probably spend the weekend bonding with her stepfather over men beating the shit out of each other. Clarke hadn’t actually known anything about UFC until after lunch with Lexa when she may have spent a half an hour googling it, before she couldn’t take the violence.

Clarke hadn’t realized who she was looking at (which was stupid really, how many French UFC fighters are there) until she heard the voice.

“Clarke.” Clarke clenched her jaw; because no way did Lexa saying her name, in that French accent, turn Clarke on. That was just not true, okay. Fuck, it was totally true.

“Lexa.” Clarke’s smile grew as Lexa walked closer. Clarke really needed to kick this habit in the butt.

“What do you do here?” Lexa asked; she had obviously been practicing her English more than Clarke had been practicing her French.

“Uh,” Clarke realized that this was not going to be a sentence she could say in French, “I grew up here. Uh, **quand je suis petite j’habite ici**.” Clarke tried. Lexa grinned, it wasn’t her normal grin, but Clarke had seen it before.

“ **Quand j’étais petite, j’habitais ici**. You are not little, you were little.” It was her fucking teacher grin. Clarke repeated. Honestly, she really didn’t care about her verb tenses, but it made Lexa smile. Clarke barely noticed the muscular men who had made their way over. “ **Nyko, Gus, c’est mon amie, Clarke**.” The two men nodded in recognition. “ **Et… et… ce sont qui Clarke?** ” 

Clarke looked back at her parents (Marcus looked like he was going to shit his pants. It wasn’t really his fault, but he got kind of star struck when it came to athletes.) “ **C’est ma mère, Abby, et mon, mon** ,” Clarke cursed under her breath. She hadn’t been paying attention during her ‘family’ Duolingo course and now she didn’t know how to say stepfather.

“ **Ton père?** ” (Hey French buddies, next question, because yes, I’m starting to get comfortable with y’all so I’m going to start asking more questions. How does one transition from vous to tu and like do young adults use tu for other young adults they don’t know, or do they use vous. Thanks guys)

“No, uh,” Clarke knew _père_ meant father, and as much as she loved Marcus, he wasn’t her father. “Uh,” Clarke hesitated again, before choosing her native language. “Step dad, Marcus?” She said it more as a question than anything else.

“ **Son beau-père.** ” One of the men said to Lexa then turned to Clarke. “That’s the word for stepfather in French.” He explained. Clarke was impressed, he definitely had an accent, but he seemed to be fluent in English.

“Merci Nyko.” Lexa smiled, planting a kiss on the man’s cheek. “This is my brother Nyko,” Lexa motioned to the one who had translated for Clarke, “and this is my brother Gustus, but, uh, he calls himself Gus.” Lexa motioned to her other brother. Clarke tried to focus on Nyko, because Gus was staring Clarke down, like if she made a false move Gus was going to beat her up. “Nyko has a big fight, so we support him.” Lexa explained. Clarke nodded. “ **Je te laisserai avec ton petit-déjuner et ta famille**.” Lexa said. Nyko raised his eyebrows to Clarke, as if to ask if she needed a translation, but Clarke shook her head. She may have not understood word-for-word, but she got the picture. Lexa stood on her toes; she was probably six inches shorter than Nyko, and whispered something into his ear. Nyko bellowed a deep laugh.

“She,” Nyko laughed, “she likes your pancakes, a clown, yes?” Clarke laughed, though she could feel warmth approach her cheeks. 

“Yeah, since I was little.” She laughed; Lexa’s eyebrows knit together. Clarke hadn’t realized how fast she was probably talking, and how she slurred. Nyko translated easily, which made Lexa smile. Before she left, Lexa pulled Clarke up, holding her arm and gave her the traditional double French kiss. Clarke thought it had been a greeting thing, but maybe she was wrong. Either way, she was hoping she wasn’t blushing because she couldn’t take the probing from Abby and Marcus. The grinning on their faces told her she was flushed pink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quand j’étais (suis) petite, j’habitais (habite) ici: When I was (am) little, I lived (live) here
> 
> Nyko, Gus, c’est mon amie, Clarke: Nyko, Gus, this is my friend Clakre (For all of you Francophones is that the proper way to say that, or did I eff that up.)
> 
> Et… et… ce sont qui Clarke?: And who are they Clarke? (the question above remains for this. Is that how you say it, or was that just an incorrect direct translation?)
> 
> C’est ma mère, Abby: This is my mom Abby. (The same question. Is that how you introduce or nah?)
> 
> Je te laisserai avec ton petit-déjuner et ta famille: I'll leave you with your breakfast and your family (Is that the right verb or nah? I'm very worried about just directly translating)
> 
> Last thing for those of you who are French: "Before she left, Lexa pulled Clarke up, holding her arm" Was that to bold of a move? Guys Idk French culture what am I doing, because I certainly have no idea.   
> I'm being very demanding thank you all for just putting up with me.


	6. Various Locations, Washington, D.C., United States of America

**Griffin-Kane Home**

“So Abby, are the rumors true? Does Clarke really like a girl?” Octavia giggled, grabbing Clarke’s hand and uncapping her nail polish container. In Octavia’s opinion, the best part of Clarke living in New York was when she came back; she was that much more willing to do whatever Octavia wanted. 

“Oh shut it or I won’t let you paint my nails.” Clarke smiled, knowing Octavia loved the girl bonding more than anything else.

“Clarke’s not smitten if I’m not a doctor.” Abby gave Clarke a kiss on her forehead, after getting up from her old cushy recliner. Clarke groaned. “Mom!”

“It’s my job Clarke.” She laughed, making her way to the kitchen.

“So Clarke, can I hear about said girl?” Octavia teased, careful not to hurt her work on Clarke’s left hand.

Clarke grumbled a little bit, but she knew she wouldn’t win this one. “She’s well, fuck.” She tried to form words, but they didn’t result in coherence. “You’ve met her?” Clarke said uneasily; she had forgotten Octavia probably had the biggest connection to Lexa. Octavia seemed to scroll through every girl she knew. Some of which Clarke didn’t even know.

"I still haven’t gotten it?” Octavia whined, finishing up the middle finger on Clarke’s right hand. Clarke shook her head. “C’mon Clarke, give me another clue, or I’m going to have to call Lincoln for…” Octavia trailed off; realization flooded her eyes. “OH MY GOD IT’S LEXA” Octavia nearly shouted. “Aw, Clarke!” Her tone softened at the light blush that started to overtake Clarke’s face.

“Octavia it’s nothing. Really, it’s not like we’ll see each other again.” She babbled. Octavia squeaked, not a sound Clarke particularly wanted to hear.

“That’s why you had me ask Lincoln if she was gay, I should have known.” Octavia rolled her eyes, pulling out her phone.

“O, whatever you’re doing, stop.” Clarke warned as her old friend gave her hand back.

“Too late, I already pressed send.” Octavia chirped, showing Clarke the conversation on her phone. Clarke almost gagged at the sext that continued onto the screen, but Clarke scrolled up, so only the relevant texts were showing.

**Lincoln [9:49AM]**

_Is your cousin Lexa in town?_

_Yes, why do you ask?_

_Clarke is crushing._

_Lex too. Bring Clarke to Nyko’s fight_

_I can get tickets for the fam._

_Lexa will probably be more interested in Clarke than the fight_

Clarke sighed, unsure of how she felt about this little set up. “O, I don’t know.” Clarke shifted uncomfortably.

“Clarke, you need a date.” Octavia glanced toward the kitchen. “Right Abby?” She called.

“What’s the question?” Abby grinned, coming into the kitchen with Marcus by her side.

“Clarke needs to get laid.” Abby squirmed in Marcus’ lap.

“As a mother Octavia, those are not the words I’d like to hear.” For once, Clarke actually agreed with her mother. “Although Clarke does deserve the chance to be happy with a significant other.” Clarke snorted; she no longer agreed with her mother.

“Y’all need to stop intervening!” Clarke pouted, careful to not smudge her nails.

“Fine.” Octavia agreed, “But Lincoln wants to know if you all would like to come to Nyko’s fight.” That sly motherfucker. Clarke knew her battle was lost. Marcus was guaranteed to want to go, which would make Abby want to go, so Clarke was doomed to go, but she wanted it on record that she didn’t want to go.

 

**Grand Garden Arena**

“Glad you could join us Clarke, Mr. Kane, Mrs. Griffin.” Lincoln smiled as he led them out of the arena. Clarke wasn’t positive how the whole UFC thing worked, but she was pretty sure they were halfway through.

“I’m incredibly pleased you invited us.” Marcus said, trying to not let his voice become too excited. Clarke could tell, though, that Marcus was like a kid in a candy store right now.

Lincoln smiled, wrapping his arm around Octavia’s waist. “A friend of Octavia’s is a friend of mine. Besides, she tells me, you are like family.” Abby beamed in Octavia’s direction, more than happy to claim the brunette as her own.

“Clarke?” This fucking girl; that fucking accent. Clarke whirled around, probably too quickly. She knew she’d find a pretty brunette, and Lexa did not disappoint. Her hair was pinned halfway up, and she wore a tight white V-neck and skinny jeans. Clarke felt like a perv with her eyes wandering over Lexa’s body.

“Oh, Lexa, what a surprise bumping into you here.” Octavia said, making it painfully obvious that it was a set up. If Lincoln didn’t know Clarke knew before, he definitely knew now.

Lexa didn’t seem to notice the set up, so she just smiled. “You like the fight?” Clarke looked from one person to another. Marcus, of course, responded enthusiastically and Abby responded politely. “Uh,” Lexa hesitated, as if she wanted to ask something, but she wasn’t quite sure how, or she didn’t quite have the confidence. “Clarke,” God, Lexa _really_ needed to stop saying Clarke’s name that way, “do you, do you want to, to go?” Lexa motioned to the door.

Clarke’s heart quickened. She shouldn’t be nervous about going somewhere alone with Octavia’s boyfriend’s cousin, but she couldn’t dilute herself into believing that’s all Lexa was for her. “Go on,” Abby encouraged, “We’ll see you at home.” Abby gave Clarke her ‘go socialize’ smile.

Clarke took Lexa’s hand timidly, before she was whisked away for what had to be a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, so sorry this was a short chapter and no French, but I kind of wanted to write the date as it's own chapter and I promise it will have some French and fun Clarke x Lexa talks. I needed to get something out there and establish what was going to come next. Hope y'all enjoy.


	7. Foam Pit, Ton D.C. Trampoline Park, Washington, D.C., United States of America

Clarke wasn’t sure why or how Lexa was so adept at navigating the streets of D.C., nor was she certain how far they were from the arena. They had weaved and bopped through the dim street lamps with Lexa pulling Clarke along. They had stopped at, what had appeared to Clarke, an abandoned building. Lexa had strut in like she owned the place and no one seemed to object. Lexa had taken off her shoes and pulled special sticky socks from behind the desk. She had motioned for Clarke to do the same, and handed Clarke a pair of the socks that had ‘TON DC’ on the bottom, and that was how Clarke found herself bouncing on a trampoline.

“Lexa? Is this okay?” Clarke asked slowly and cautiously. Lexa just grinned, but before she could respond, she tripped and fell backwards into a pit of what appeared to be foam blocks.

“Merde.” Lexa maneuvered herself in the foam blocks. Clarke slid down into the pit.

“Tu es d’accord?” Clarke asked, making her way next to Lexa. Lexa nodded, but Clarke knew hidden pain when she saw it. 

“Oui, ça va, ça va.” Lexa tried to bring her foot up to her discreetly, but Clarke intercepted her, gently taking it into her lap. Lexa squirmed in what appeared to be pain.

“Lexa, it hurts?” Clarke asked, rolling up Lexa’s jeans on that side. “Blesser?” Clarke asked. Lexa nodded timidly.

“I am okay.” Lexa’s voice sounded further strained in Clarke’s native tongue.

“You should let me help you.” Clarke said gently, “Il est possible que tu broke it or at least sprained it.” Clarke offered, realizing Lexa probably didn’t understand her.

“Clarke.” Clarke grinned; she was weakening Lexa’s spirit. Before she could protest more, Clarke stood up, and jumped her way over to the front counter. She rummaged around a little bit before she found what she needed. Apparently this place expected injuries since there were multiple ace bandage wraps, which weren’t a part of the normal first aid package. Clarke swiped one, hoping that it would be okay, and headed back over to Lexa.

“I’m going to wrap it okay?” Clarke said, motioning to Lexa’s ankle and unwrapping the bandage. Lexa nodded. “Try talking to me while I do it. Uh, essayes parler à moi.” Clarke tried to offer in French.

“Ma cousine américaine, c’est son propre magasin.” Lexa winced, as Clarke maneuvered the bandage around her ankle. Lexa started to speak faster, and more slurred, so Clarke didn’t have a prayer of understanding. When she finished, she laid back down in the pit next to Lexa. “Ce aurait été un rendez-vous.” Lexa whispered. Clarke didn’t understand, since she thought rendez-vous was a meeting, but it seemed like Lexa was disappointed.

“Dis-moi uh, des choses uh, about you.” Clarke had to give it to herself; she was getting good at half-English, half-French. Lexa beamed, taking Clarke’s hand under a series of blocks.

“My favorite colour is blue, and when I was little I caused many problems.” Clarke laughed, how could Lexa have been a troublemaker?

“You were a troublemaker?” Clarke asked. Lexa nodded, smiling. “Well I was perfect, so I wouldn’t know about that.” Clarke grinned.

This time, it was Lexa’s turn to laugh. “Je crois pas. There is no way you did not cause problems.” Clarke blushed a little.

“Okay, you caught me. Je cause des problèmes.” Clarke said. Lexa grinned, and Clarke knew she had said something not grammatically correct.

“You need past tense. Tu as causé des problèmes; tu ne cause pas des problèmes maintenant.” Clarke paused, thinking about what Lexa had said.

“So, how do you form past tense?” Clarke asked, meeting Lexa’s gaze.

“You have avoir many times, some times être, and then the participe passé.” Lexa explained. Clarke didn’t notice Lexa’s voice lowering until it was nearly a whisper. “For -er verbs, it’s an ay sound, an e with an accent.” Lexa said, leaning closer to Clarke. With one smooth motion, Lexa put her hand on Clarke’s neck and pulled her into a kiss. When Lexa backed away to apologize, Clarke pulled Lexa back.

When the two girls did separate from each other, Lexa just smiled. “Alors, dis-moi un histoire où tu as causé des problèmes.” Clarke rolled her head back and groaned. “En anglais, si tu veux.”

“Fine.” Clarke sighed, “But it was not my fault.” Lexa nodded as if to say, ok Clarke, ok. “Well, when I was in the ninth grade, so fourteen,” Clarke spoke deliberately, “We were doing a lab in Chemistry,” Lexa nodded every now and then, reassuring Clarke she understood. “My lab partners were Octavia, and these boys Monty and Jasper. Monty and Jasper were rather enthusiastic students.” Clarke laughed at the memory of her goofy friends. “The lab called for diluted hydrogen peroxide, but Jasper and Monty decided that they didn’t want to dilute it, so let’s just say that there was dangerous chemicals, everywhere, and” Clarke took her hand from Lexa’s and pointed to a white mark on her ring finger, “A few of us, were burned.”

Lexa laughed and took Clarke’s hand, kissing the old chemical burn gently. Clarke smiled, suddenly remembering Lexa’s foot. “We should get you to a hospital.” Clarke offered quietly.

“Non, Clarke, je n’ai pas besoin d’un hôpital.” Lexa protested, “Je veux rester ici.” She added shyly. Clarke smiled, but she started to get up, pulling Lexa along with her. As they got to the trampoline part, Clarke made sure to go slowly, and to support as much of Lexa’s weight as possible. “Tu dois pas le faire. It is not your responsabilité.” 

Clarke laughed, if only Lexa knew how qualified she was to do exactly this. “J’ai des amis au hôpital. I’d like to see them.” Lexa rolled her eyes at Clarke’s excuse. “Besides, you’re not going to get anywhere on your own.” Lexa sighed in defeat, and Clarke may have been a little too excited to be bringing Lexa to the Emergency Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, that one was short too! I really should have combined a few, but it's kinda fun to have 'foam pit' as the title, so. I'm thinking one more in D.C. then I have no idea where this is going, so if you want to see anything, let me know. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> \----
> 
> Merde: Shit  
> Tu es d’accord: You okay? (yeah I know it's the wrong okay, but I figured it was an appropriate rookie mistake, since all of my classmates do it.)  
> Oui, ça va, ça va: yeah, it's good, it's good  
> Blesser: to injure  
> Il est possible que tu: It's possible that you   
> essayes (de) parler à moi: Try to talk to me (Would it be essays de me parler or would you still use me since it's a command?)  
> Ma cousine américaine, c’est son propre magasin: My American cousine, it's her own store (this sentence is awkward, does anyone have a better way of saying, 'it's my American cousin's place)  
> Ce aurait été un rendez-vous: This was suppose to be a date (Yo so from what I've seen the french don't really do dates, so like I'm not sure how I'd say this or if that would be completely out of character. I had to resort to google translate *scoffs* so I have no idea how right or wrong that is)  
> Dis-moi uh, des choses: Tell me some things  
> Je crois pas: I don't believe it. (Should I have the ne here? I thought I heard that when speaking a lot of people don't use ne)  
> Je cause des problèmes: I cause some problems (Is that the right expression for getting in trouble? That's what wordref told me)  
> Tu as causé des problèmes; tu ne cause pas des problèmes maintenant: You caused problems, you don't cause problems right now.  
> Alors, dis-moi un histoire où tu as causé des problèmes...En anglais, si tu veux: So, tell me a story where you caused problems... in English if you want  
> je n’ai pas besoin d’un hôpital...Je veux rester ici: I don't need a hospital... I want to stay here (So is it besoin d'hôpital cuz I know the de only ever changes to an d' or does having an un mitigate that rule and it's d'un like I had? Did that make sense, probably not.)  
> Tu dois pas le faire: You don't have to do it (how would you say 'you don't have to do that' like is it different?)  
> J’ai des amis au hôpital: I have friends at the hospital


	8. George Washington University Hospital, Washington DC, United States of America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke arrive at the hospital and Clarke sees some old friends featuring Bellamy and Clarke fluff.

The moment Clarke stepped into the emergency room she started to recognize people. She had spent her residency here, and had gone to school at George Washington University. “Clarke?” A smiling nurse, Harper, asked from behind the check-in desk. Clarke couldn’t help but grin, this felt like home.

Clarke decided it would be best not to make Lexa hobble any more than she had to, so she motioned for Lexa to sit in an available chair. “Je vais uh, check you in. Okay?” Lexa nodded, but still looked confused and frightened. “Je vais dire au le doctor que tu es ici.” Clarke explained in broken French, and Lexa nodded. The confusion disappearing and the fear becoming masked. She must have been injured like this before, but she probably had family or a special team around when it happened.

Clarke left Lexa with a nervous glance back, and headed over to where her friend waited. “Clarke freaking Griffin, what are you doing back stateside kid?” Harper smiled, pulling an intact form from her pile. 

“France got old.” Clarke smiled, “I hate to be all work and no play, especially since I want to hear how Monroe and the munchkins are, but I’ve got a friend who’s probably only got a sprain, but I’d like to be safe rather than sorry.” Clarke glanced back at Lexa, a gesture she hoped would be discrete, but a gesture that Harper missed. 

“A friend, or a special friend?” Harper grinned, following Clarke’s line of sight. Clarke sighed, she was unsure how of answer that on a normal day, let alone in a situation where she was stressed.

“Good question. Maybe someone in between?” Lexa had kissed her, so that was promising, but Clarke still wasn’t sure. “She’s French, so she doesn’t speak English fluently.” A shit grin crossed Harper’s face. 

“If you don’t want her going in alone I can call Zoe in from her break and she can double check your work.” Harper paused, “If you’ve lost your touch Doc.” Clarke rolled her eyes 

“Is Bell on duty today?” Clarke asked, taking the intake form.

 “Yeah, I’ll see if he can take a break. I’ll make sure she does get Zoe though. She speaks some French, even if it is Canadian French. Did you know there was a difference, because I certainly didn’t?” Harper babbled on. Clarke just smiled; she forgot how much she missed people like Harper and Monroe, and Fox.

“I did not, I’ll start filling out the form with Lexa.” Clarke turned and headed to where Lexa was still sitting. “Did you want to call someone?” Clarke asked hesitantly, making the phone gesture.

“I have already text Lincoln. He will find me after the fight finishes.” Clarke noded.

“We uh on doit faire ces papiers” Clarke said, motioning to the clipboard in her hand. Lexa nodded. “Date of birth, uh date de naissance.” Clarke prompted, having a feeling this was going to be a long sheet.

“The 16 of August 1982.” Clarke scribbled down the date, subconsciously noting that Lexa was two years older than she was.

 “Full Name? Uh, nom?” Clarke asked.

“Alexandria Woods.” Lexa said. Clarke hadn’t realized that it wasn’t only her name that sounded utterly beautiful in Lexa’s accent. Before Clarke could move on, both Bellamy and Monroe appeared.

“Lexa?” Monroe asked softly. “Je suis médecin, comme Clarke. Je m’appelle Dr. Monroe. Je parle français un peu alors je essayerai de vous aider. OK?” Lexa nodded, then turned back to Clarke.

“Tu es médicin? Tu m’as dit pas.” Lexa grumbled before hobbling off with Monroe.

“C’mon kid, I took my break for you.” Bellamy pulled Clarke up from where she sat. The two found themselves walking side-by-side around the outside perimeter of the hospital in comfortable silence. They hadn’t quite finished the first lap, when Clarke spoke. “Did I make a mistake?” Bellamy seemed to contemplate the question.

“In leaving medicine?” Clarke nodded. She really loved art, she really did, but being back home everything seemed different. She was starting to miss the challenge. “It’s been what, a year since you were in a hospital and you already miss it?” Clarke nodded, her heart sinking. Bellamy did think she made a mistake. “I don’t think you did.” Clarke’s head swung up. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that response. “Clarke, I think you needed to leave to learn how much you love it. All your life has been medicine. You needed to figure out if it was your passion, or your mom’s.” Bellamy flashed her his boyish grin.

“A few months before I decided to leave, I applied to Doctors Without Boarders as a last ditch effort of making myself love it again.” Clarke bit her lip nervously. “I totally forgot about it, because my mind was so shut off from medicine, but I got an email yesterday.” Clarke paused; did she really want to make the offer known. “They want me in South Sudan for ten months.”

Bellamy’s facial expressions were impossible to read. “When?” He asked; his voice obviously strained.

“About a month. I’d leave on August 31st.” Clarke realized that they had stopped walking. “It’s not a big deal Bell. I don’t even know if I’m going to go.”

Bellamy stayed silent for a few moments too long, as he started to walk again. “I think… I think I can’t think of you in a country in civil war, so tell me about this girlfriend of yours that you came in with.”

Clarke rolled her eyes. “She’s not my girlfriend, or maybe she is, I don’t know.” Clarke forced a laugh. She knew it was hard for Bellamy when she was doing HIV/AIDS relief work in a rather stable (or as stable as a corrupt third world country could be) area, so she imagined a newly formed corrupt government would be even more worrisome for him. He really cared for Clarke as if she was Octavia.

“How do you not know, loser?” Clarke sighed and launched into ever detail of her and Lexa’s relationship from the Louvre, to de Gaulle, to London, to New York, then, to the foam pit in D.C. Bellamy just listened, nodding occasionally. A smile consistently on his face, for his blond little sister may have found someone who truly makes her happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je suis médecin, comme Clarke. Je m’appelle Dr. Monroe. Je parle français un peu alors je essayerai de vous aider. OK?”: I'm a doctor, like Clarke. My name is Dr. Monroe. I speak french a little, so I'm going to try and help you okay?
> 
> “Tu es médicin? Tu m’as dit pas: you're a doctor, you didn't tell me.


	9. Griffin Apartment, New York City, NY, United States of America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tells Lexa about Doctors Without Borders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right, it's been a while so my writing is a little rusty. It's shorter than it probably should be and it may be a cop out of the ending, but it is what it is. You've been forewarned.

Clarke paced and forth in her apartment. She needed to either reject or accept the offer from Doctors Without Borders by the end of the week, but first she had to talk to Lexa. Well, maybe she didn't have to, but she really liked Lexa and wanted to talk to her about it.    
  
They were going on a special date for Lexa's birthday, and Clarke felt bad for bringing it up on a special occasion, but she couldn't lie to Lexa. She was leaning toward taking the opportunity and she couldn't sit across the table from the Frenchwoman and pretend like they had forever to get to know each other. Clarke didn't want to stop seeing Lexa, but that was the only fair solution. Clarke yelled in frustration when there was a knock on her door. "Shit." Clarke knew a beautiful girl waited on the other side of that door and Clarke still hadn't made up her mind.    
  
In effort to regain her composure, Clarke walked slowly to the door and opened it for Lexa, who stood at the door. Clarke's breath hitched. Was she really entertaining the idea of leaving this person. Lexa was stunning to say the least, both inside and out. Tonight though, her outward appearance was especially stunning. Lexa was in a simple red flannel, unbuttoned to show a fair amount of cleavage (which just wasn't fair in Clarke's opinion) and classic blue jeans that hugged Lexa's figure. "Hi." Clarke said brilliantly, before remembering to motion Lexa inside.    
  
"Bon soir Clarke." Lexa smiled, greeting Clarke with the French bise that Clarke had become accustomed to. "We stay here for dinner?" Lexa asked, cocking her head.  
  
Clarke nodded, "if that's okay with you. J'ai cuisiné uhhh j'ai cuisiné pasta." Clarke said, taking Lexa's coat and leading her to the small kitchen.    
  
"Des pâtes." Lexa supplied the French word. Clarke smiled with a nod. "C'est parfait Clarke." Lexa smiled. Clarke could feel the butterflies in the pit of her stomach, but she let Lexa's smile make her own appear.    
  
"Lexa..." Clarke started, unsure where to start. "Uh, je pense que je vais à Sudan." Clarke fiddled with her fingers. Lexa's face contorted and Clarke tried desperately to interpret the emotions that flashes across Lexa's face. Confusion, sadness, maybe even hurt. Lexa let herself drop to the seat behind her, Clarke's eyes tracing every move.    
  
"Mais c'est dangereux et on... On a justement commencé. Tu veux pas un rapport, je ne viendrais pas ici. Tu ne sentis pas le même que moi." Lexa babbled a mile a minute. Clarke didn't understand anything but she could tell Lexa was upset. She flexed her jaw, deciding to not think about what she was doing. In one motion, Clarke bent down and captured Lexa in a kiss. Clarke was expecting the brunette to pull away and continue her foreign rant, but instead Lexa stood up and pulled Clarke closer to her, running her hands up Clarke's body as she got up. "Clarke." Lexa muttered against Clarke's skin.    
  
Hesitantly, Clarke pulled away from Lexa. "I'm sorry, uh désolée. I just, you were, and," Clarke struggled to find words as an amused glint developed in Lexa's eye. "I'll be quiet now." Clarke blushed.  
  
"Why do you go to Soudan? Last I hear, it is very dangereux." Lexa's eyes were filled with genuine concern. Clarke pulled Lexa gently to the nearby couch.  
  
"I haven't said yes yet, but Doctors Without Borders, uh  Médecins Sans Frontières, offered me a spot. I don't want to leave you, but I think I need to do this, for myself." Clarke said slowly, hoping Lexa would understand. Lexa's intense green gaze softened.    
  
"You do not want to leave me?" Clarke shook her head. She couldn't imagine someone wanting to leave Lexa. "Can I wait for you?" Lexa asked shyly, not meeting Clarke's eyes. A smile spread across Clarke's face. Clarke brushed the back of her hand against Lexa's cheek.  
  
"I would love it if you waited for me Lexa," Clarke said softly. She didn't want to add the 'but' despite how necessary it was. "But," Clarke could hear Lexa intake air, "that's not fair to you. I'll be away for ten months with spotty communication capabilities at best." Lexa's eyebrows knit together the moment Clarke said the word 'spotty'. "It'll be hard for us to keep in touch?" No dice, "it'll be hard to keep talking while I'm there." Clarke explained.    
  
Lexa seemed to be searching Clarke's eyes for something when she leaned over and pressed her lips to Clarke's. "I wait. We talk after. When do you leave?" Lexa asked after she pulled away.    
  
"The 31st." Clarke said, her heart fluttering. Lexa nodded as the reality set in.    
  
"We should start to get you ready to leave soon." Lexa said gently, making Clarke laugh. When Lexa pulled Clarke into a hug, Clarke was more sure than ever that this was the right move, and everything would be okay.  

* * *

"Clarke?" Clarke's eyes drifted open at the sound of her girlfriend's voice. "Rêves-toi ma chérie." Lexa said softly. In the days proceeding, Clarke had started to get used to waking to Lexa's gentle voice in her ear or Lexa's strong arms around her, and yet Clarke was going to leave all of that behind in a matter of hours. She didn't understand how her heart was still split in two very different directions. "You must leave in twenty minutes Clarke, you need to get up." Lexa said, gently pushing Clarke away from her pillow. Her flight was at an ungodly hour and Lexa had been sweet enough to get up early and make a small breakfast and wake Clarke up gently. Clarke grumbled, pulling Lexa down to her level and into a kiss. "Ma chérie," Lexa groaned, "I would prefer you stay here and we kiss, but Raven will be angry if you're not ready when she arrives." Clarke pouted, but made her way up.    
  
The twenty minutes passed like they were twenty seconds and before either of them knew it, Raven was waiting in the front of their building. "This is not adieu or even au revoir this is simply à bientôt." Lexa said softly, her forehead rested against Clarke's, who was weighed down with a backpack full of stuff for the locals and duffle bag of clothing and water.    
  
Clarke could feel the tears starting to stream from her eyes. She hadn't known Lexa for long, and they had dated for even less time, but it felt so right. Clarke knew she had to leave if she wanted to get to the airport with any semblance of composure. With a chaste kiss and a hand squeeze, Clarke parted from Lexa. Ten months until she saw Lexa again. She was off to do good things and then she would come home and explore her relationship in new depths. Clarke glanced back once more, knowing that the arms and green eyes sending her off would be greeting her at the airport in 305 short days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> je pens que je vais : i think that i'm going  
> Mais c'est dangereux et on... On a justement commencé. Tu veux pas un rapport, je ne viendrais pas ici. Tu ne sentis pas le même que moi : but its dangerous and we... we just started. you dont want a relationship, i shouldn't habe come here. you don't feel the same as me
> 
> "This is not adieu or even au revoir this is simply à bientôt." just a note on this line, i've been taught that adieu is like very permanent and au revoir is like we'll probably see each other again soon but idk when and à bientôt is more like later, but feel free to correct me!

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on tumblr (my-queer-french-scars)


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